


Sometimes, it just is

by kiva31



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiva31/pseuds/kiva31
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can there really ever be a day without weirdness for these guys?<br/>Well, actually. yeah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes, it just is

## Sometimes, it just is

by Kiva

None of the characters in this story are mine -- except Mrs Johnson and the victim. Nobody wanted them ;-)

Well. what can I say? Been watching The Sentinel on UK tv for a while. Toying with the idea of straying from the Stargate fandom and writing a fic. Finally, Nicci and Xim nagged -- um, *convinced* me. to try it.   
Feedback is very much appreciated, to kiva31@yahoo.com.   
I'd actually like to know how I did (or didn't do ) with my first effort   


Just generic, for the series.   
Nothing much happens in this -- no car chases, no injuries, no sex or excitement.   
Xim advised me to think of it as a 'character study', I think. *g*   
Because as busy as these guys get, you just know that at *some* point. they had to find themselves in the middle of a normal day.   


* * *

It was a nice street, Blair decided. Perfectly manicured lawns, no fuss, no clutter. Each house was pretty distantly spaced from the next, which obviously offered a whole lot of privacy. 

Maybe that was why, at 4 o'clock on a sunny Monday afternoon, nobody had spotted the horribly murdered man who lay in front of one of those neat patches of green grass. 

The team of Ellison and Sandburg was on the case, having heard the call over the radio on their way to a very late lunch. Normally, they would have let the proper units cover it -- but Jim had suggested swinging by, suiting actions to words before he'd gotten his partner's opinion. Literally along for the ride, Sandburg had belatedly agreed. 

As his eyes landed on the corpse stretched out in position at his feet, Blair immediately cut them away again. He cleared his throat of the saliva that had flooded it. "Stabbed," he commented. 

Jim barely glanced up from his crouched squat next to the victim, his lips twitching. "How could you tell?" 

Blair kicked lightly at the sentinel's shoe. "Very funny." He forced himself to look at the gory scene. "I don't know, man... the sucking chest wound was my first clue. And, well... the kitchen knife sticking out of it helped, too." 

Jim just shook his head, the lip twitching gradually changing to a half-smile. "Didn't help this guy, much, though." 

Blair had to agree with him there. "So... you pick anything up? Sense wise, I mean." 

Jim sighed, standing up. "Well... I smell dog. Other than that, besides the usual --" 

Which Blair knew to be blood, bodily evacuations (which was _so_ gross), and other assorted crime-scene scents and sounds. 

"-- There is one thing out of place." 

Sandburg raised his eyebrows, silently asking what it was. 

"Disinfectant," the detective replied. 

"Disinfectant?" Blair repeated. 

Jim nodded, his eyes checking out their surroundings. "Look," he said finally, using his chin to indicate a direction. 

Blair turned, looking. He saw the usual public gawkers, drawn to the street from the various houses, now that everyone was back from their day's work. There were cops, and the coroner's van and people, ready to pick the DB up. The crime scene techs were there, too, already on the job .   
A flash of yellow caught his eye, and he focused on the woman responsible for the colored blur. Shorter than him, nearly twice as wide, she was talking to one of the uniformed officers, her hands gesturing wildly. The flash of yellow had been the bright rubber gloves she wore. They didn't seem particularly out of place when coupled with the flowery apron she had on -- it seemed almost as if she'd been disturbed from her washing up, or something. But they _were_ out of place for a crime-scene. 

"It's coming from her?" 

Jim nodded again. "Yep. I smell it around the victim." He caught Blair's eye. "And over there, too." He indicated the house they were in front of. "But the difference is, towards the house... the smell mixes with blood." 

Sandburg looked at the woman again, his eyes going back and forth between the body and her. "Aw, c'mon, Jim... no way. Does she look capable of _this_?" He waved a hand at the gruesome wound. 

Jim just smiled grimly. "You of all people know looks can be deceiving, Sandburg." 

Okay, he'd concede that point. But, still.... 

Jim apparently picked up on his silent hesitation. "Well, let's go take a look, shall we?" 

They walked over to the uniform, nodding to him in greeting. 

"You got everything you need, Davis?" Jim asked, his head tilted towards the man he was talking to, but his eyes never leaving the woman in the apron. 

"Yeah, Detective Ellison. Mrs Johnson here was just telling me how she discovered the deceased." 

Ellison nodded. "So, Mrs... Johnson, is it?" 

Blair hid a smile at that. Like Jim had forgotten her name seconds after she'd been introduced. It was a good tactic, though. One that made the potential suspect relax, for a couple of reasons. 

The woman bobbed her head, her eyes beginning to wander nervously. 

"Why don't you take it from the top, hmm?" 

He followed the suggestion up with a smile, one that didn't seem to Blair to be at all friendly. A glance at the unfortunate Mrs Johnson, and he could tell she felt the same. 

* * *

"Ah! Get your hands off me, you... you.... Do you have any idea of the _germs_ you could be carrying? I'll kill you! I will!" 

Blair watched in shocked bemusement as the whirlwind that was Mrs Johnson, was dragged away, flailing and screaming wildly. "Jim, man... I take it back. I can _totally_ see her as a killer." 

Ellison shrugged. "The confession didn't hurt." 

Blair just shook his head. "Who would've thought it, huh? Killed because he let his dog poop on the wrong lawn once too often." 

They started off to Jim's truck, hands tucked into coat pockets in defence against the perpetually chilly weather. 

"There was a little more to it than that, Chief." 

Blair laughed. "You mean the fact that Johnson is a grade A looney?" 

"I mean," Jim said, "she's obviously not all there, y'know? She was... so obsessed with the germs that could've been multiplying on her front doorstep, that she... just snapped." 

Blair didn't even bother making the comparison between Jim's own germ-phobic tendencies. Instead, he laughed again. "Hey, aren't I the one who should be standing up for her? You're breaking the routine, man." 

Ellison turned the key in the ignition, starting the truck. "I'm not defending her, Sandburg. Yes, I can understand she's probably not mentally sound. But she was together enough to let the victim's dog go free, take the leash he'd been holding, and return to her house, putting her bloody clothes in soak. Hell, she cleaned the blood spatter off the damn pavement of her front path. All before she called the cops." 

"But with a good defense, she'll get off, right? Or at least... not as much as she deserves." 

Ellison shrugged. "Probably." 

He didn't offer anything more, but Blair didn't believe for a second the issue had been dismissed from the cop's mind. Johnson most likely wouldn't get a heavy punishment, which meant the victim, indiscriminate dog poop spreader that he'd been, wouldn't get justice. Sometimes, the legal system sucked. 

* * *

The rest of the day was spent wrapping up the case. Technically, it hadn't even been Major Crimes' to deal with -- a straightforward homicide, if anything. But while miffed their 'territory' had been encroached upon by another unit, the captain of the Homicide division hadn't exactly been upset that the case had been solved. And if someone else had to deal with the clean up, then... that was just a bonus. 

Afterwards, at the loft, both men had begun the unwinding process. They were both armed with beers, Jim on the couch in front of the tv, and Blair head-first in the 'fridge. One half of the anthropologist's mind was firmly fixed on what they could make for dinner with the supplies they had in. The other was stuck on the man sitting on the couch. 

Ever since they'd gotten home, there'd been something... off... about Jim's behavior. Nothing big -- no obvious signs or anything. Still... it was unsettling. Blair didn't like the feeling of having to walk on eggshells in his own home. At least, not for some unknown, undefined reason, anyway. 

He sloped over to the other man, perching on one of the couch arms. "Alright, man... out with it." 

Jim didn't even take his eyes from the flickering screen. "With what?" 

"With whatever's bugging you," Sandburg replied, his tone suggesting a silently added, "d'uh!" 

That earned him a quick glance. "Nothing's bugging me." Jim's tone suggested a silently added, "but you're getting there." 

"Okay," Blair said mildly. He joined his friend in watching the pictures on the tube, completely aware of the looks Jim was throwing his way. Almost as if he didn't believe Blair would give up that easily. Which he wouldn't, of course... but this particular moment called for more _subtle_ persuasion. So he sat, passively... waiting for the fish to bite. 

Finally, Jim sighed. "Fine," he grit out. 

Blair knew he'd won. 

"Today was just... I don't know. A little different, I guess." 

"Different how?" 

Jim hesitated, one hand twitching on his thigh. "I don't know. You don't feel there was something... missing, or something?" 

Blair considered that. "I don't know, man... I mean, you didn't get in a high-speed car chase, and I wasn't knocked unconscious. At any point I can _remember_ , anyway. Is that what you mean?" 

"No, wise guy," Ellison replied, launching a throw pillow from the couch at him. "I just... it was... normal." 

"Normal," Sandburg repeated. 

Jim just nodded, seeming unsatisfied. 

"What, Jim? C'mon... anyone would think you needed a spot of weirdness just to validate your day." Blair paused, catching the expression on Jim's face. "Oh my God! You do, don't you? Hey, man... what happened to all that 'normal life' crap? As in, that's what you wanted for _yours_." 

The man on the couch just shrugged, as if he couldn't put his thoughts into words. Which, now Blair thought about it, probably wasn't far from the truth. 

Finally, he took pity on his friend. "Look, Jim... if you really need a dose of weirdness to make your world right... you don't have to look further than your own front door, right?" 

Jim shook his head. "What are you talking about, Sandburg?" 

Blair waved a finger at the Sentinel. "Ah, ah, Jim... remember, we're off duty. There will be no last name calling in this loft." 

That made Ellison roll his eyes. "Okay... _Blair_. What the hell are you talking about?" 

Sliding from the arm and further onto the couch, Blair slumped down onto the cushions, pressing up against the other man. "Us, Jim. Think about it... under non-Sentinel influenced circumstances, we probably wouldn't even have met." He caught the cop's eye. "And yet, here we are... together. Friends and mattress buddies." He took a swig of his beer, his expression clearly saying, "chew on _that_ , man." 

Slowly, Jim nodded. "I see your point. I don't need to go looking for weirdness, because we already embody it." 

Now it was Sandburg's turn to roll his eyes. "Something like that, man." 

Jim nodded, satisfied as he returned his attention back to the television. 

"Yep," Blair sighed, taking in his existence. "Normal." Or their version of it, anyway. He downed the last of his beer, and briefly thought about engaging in a battle with Jim for the tv remote. 

It worked for him. 

The End. 

* * *

End Sometimes, it just is by Kiva: kiva31@yahoo.com

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Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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